Two Shifts Only at Ladies Only Bar in Mos Eiseley
by Valairy Scot
Summary: This is a humor parody, tongue in cheek and full of innuendo and puns. Just how did ObiWan Kenobi finance his exile? Plot bunny came from another author's comment.
1. Chapter 1

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Oh, sure, Senator Bail Organa had set Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi up with a nice little shack out by the Jungland Wastes on Tatooine and stashed some credits in the Tatooine OuterRim Credit Union to carry Obi-Wan through the first, and possibly last, nineteen years of exile.

_Why 19_? Obi-Wan often wondered. He had searched the Force for answers, but it stubbornly refused to give one. Perhaps it had consulted the Jedi Master Life Mortality Table and knew that was his remaining expected life span. Obi-Wan knew he would die someday, might as well be 19 years from now. But it would be nice to know.

If that was the answer, it was the first time the Force had gone wrong. Or maybe it was the fact that it was Senator Bail Organa, not Jedi Master Bail Organa, that couldn't read the future. Whatever the reason, the Credit Union had lost all its records and refused to acknowledge any account for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Or even Ben Kenobi, for that matter. Maybe it had something to do with its acquisition in an hostile takeover by the Palpatine Empirical Bank.

Regardless of the reason, Obi-Wan Kenobi was broke. And he was hungry. He had nothing to barter for supplies. No one even wanted a young babe full of Force potential – yikes! Obi-Wan flinched at the thought that had crossed his mind; the lack of food was causing him to hallucinate. Indeed, desperate times calling for desperate measures.

He trudged wearily through the dusty streets of Mos Eisely, wondering if it was permissible to use a mind trick to swipe a bit of Gorean stew off some shady character's plate. He wouldn't do it to an honest person; that is, if there were any such in a place like this.

The Jedi wiped a shaky hand over his brow, leaving a salty streak in the dust that clung to his face, the only part of him open to this unkind environment. He was truly getting in a bad way. He would have to find work. It wouldn't be an honest day's work. Not in Mos Eisely.

He tried anyway. He knocked on doors and offered to do odd jobs. He tried to be hired as a Bantha Burger chef at the local Bantha Arches. They only sneered and said he was too cultured. _I'll culture you!_ He thought; then drew back in horror. A Jedi would not cheerfully push a youngster's face onto a hot grill. Thank the Force he had stopped before he put thought into action. Obi-Wan's face flushed with embarrassment and shame. He was truly getting desperate.

One shop advertised its need for a retail clerk, selling cloaks. Obi-Wan thought he had a chance here. With all the cloaks he'd discarded over the years in out of the way places, he knew cloaks. He had the proper background. But he didn't have prior experience.

He stumbled against a door, trying to hold back his sighs and sniffles. His stomach was growling and his head hurt. He never did like himself when he got hungry like this. It wasn't dignified, and when he got hungry enough, he would do anything for food. Even if the Force told him not to. Right now, it was quiet.

The door slid aside as he leaned against it. Inside it was cool and welcoming, after the retina-burning explosion of light outside that was Tatooine.

"Well, stranger, here to audition, are you?" a husky human voice, female, said at his shoulder. "What's your schtick?"

"My, ah, _schtick_?" Obi-Wan returned, wrapping his cloak tightly about him. What was a schtick? Was it a weapon? A skill? A way to earn credits, and therefore food?

The female slid amused eyes over him and paused as they focused on his torso, or what would have been his torso, if visible under the tightly wrapped cloak. Then Obi-Wan realized her eyes were just a – tad – bit lower.

"Is that….?"

Obi-Wan blushed. The Force was whispering her thoughts, and it was chuckling.

"It's my lightsaber, madam," he informed her with as much dignity as he could muster. He was busy swiveling his equipment belt back to where it belonged, so the lightsaber would hang where it belonged. By his side. Not, ah, where she had seen it.

"Oh, so you, ah, weren't pleased to see me," she winked.

Poor Obi-Wan wanted to sink into the ground, into the Force, anywhere. When it came to matters like this, he realized he had led a very sheltered life.

_You know, this could be interesting_, mused the voice of his old Master, Qui-Gon. _You know this job pays well._

Obi-Wan coughed, thinking desperately he really didn't want Qui-Gon here. Not here, not now, and certainly not encouraging him. Not…watching.

_You could earn enough to eat well. You don't have much in the way of talent that could work for you here_, Qui-Gon's voice needled at him. _It could be a long and hungry nineteen years. Don't wait too long, you are getting older. Strike while the iron is hot. _

The woman looked at him again, and smiled. Again. Had Qui-Gon whispered a suggestion to her? She said in soft, wheedling tones, "One shift a night, starting in half an hour. You'll get a meal as well as payments. And tips."

A meal? Food? She went over to the bar and assembled a plate of Gamorean hot wings and Tatooine tators and set it on a table, waving him to a seat. Obi-Wan stared at her, then the food. His mouth was watering. He was desperate. Really desperate. And he knew he had no other choice. There was no good honest work to be found. Not in Mos Eisely.

"I – only have to, to … " he stammered.

"Strip. It's Ladies Night out, and there aren't many…desirable men in Mos Eisely," she confirmed. "I'm sure you'll be a hit. All you have to do is get on that stage and dance."

"But I can't dance. I don't dance," Obi-Wan cried out. Nothing would persuade him to dance. Nothing, but food. And he flinched. He winced. He tried every verb he could think of. But only one beckoned. Eat!

He looked at the plate of food and at the stage. Desperate times truly called for desperate measures. So the Jedi Master pulled up a chair and stuffed the food in his mouth as fast as he could. Followed by a tankard of ale. And one more, followed by another.

By the time he was announced, he was already half dancing under the assault of both food and alcohol on an empty stomach. With his mind deep in the Force trying to hide his panic, he danced, wiggled and twirled.

_Master Yoda should see you now_, laughed Qui-Gon's thoughts in his mind. _He always said Jedi should dance_.

Obi-Wan looked down at the credits stuffed in his, ah, he returned his eyes to the ceiling and his mind to the Force. He didn't really want to pay attention to what he was doing. It was enough that he was being tipped well.

_A Jedi craves not adulation or praise_, Qui-Gon whispered to him. Obi-Wan opened one eye and glared.

_But __a hungry stripper does_, he thought back.

And as he counted his tips, he realized he could live quite nicely on his earnings, if he saved carefully. And worked both shifts. He should remain fit enough for a few more years. Enough time to sock away enough credits to carry him through the next nineteen years. No more, though.

Even if he worked two shifts at the Ladies Only Strip Club in Mos Eisely.


	2. Attack of the Bounty Hunter

It was the fourth month of his exile and the third week of his new job. Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi found he was enjoying stripping, as long as he didn't think about it. What he enjoyed was the credits he was fast accumulating, and the food he was able to eat on a regular basis. The information he overheard was a bonus.

Maybe the Credit Union's takeover in a hostile acquisition, which had caused him to lose access to all his funding, was a gift of the Force. Not exactly welcomed, perhaps, but the Force worked in mysterious ways. Not only was it providing him a means of survival, it was providing valuable tips that would help him in his primary goal – protecting young Luke Skywalker.

Already, the Jedi Master had learned much. Unfortunately, first and foremost, he had learned that a certain female bounty hunter had taken it upon herself to watch him. Unfortunately, that meant she was at both shifts, every night. Staring. Smiling. And tipping very well.

The Jedi Master wished she wore a concealing mask, not just a partial face mask. It was quite unnerving to see the hungry look in her face; the face of a hunter faced with its prey.

There was nothing soft or feminine about her. Her lithe body was clad in moderately loose clothing that neither revealed or concealed her figure. The clothing allowed mobility without hindrance, yet foiled any accurate descriptions to any witnesses. Her hair was concealed within a tight cap, giving no hint of its color, texture or length.

It was a real downer. But he had to uphold his act. He could not give less than his best, no matter what he was doing.

Lately, Obi-Wan had an uneasy feeling that she was stalking him. It was the way she looked him over, top to bottom. Licking her lips as if in anticipation of her reward. It made Obi-Wan very uneasy, so he avoided visiting the Lars and young Luke.

_She's got her eyes on you_, Qui-Gon spoke in his mind one evening.

_Duh – you just noticed?_ Obi-Wan thought back.

_Touchy, are we?_ There was amusement in the thought.

_No touching allowed!_ Obi-Wan was adamant on that. _House rules_.

_Not to say Jedi training! Though there was that time…._

_I don't need to hear that, Qui-Gon! We both know celibacy was never required. Though you never hesitated to break any rule when you thought it…necessary_.

_Touche! Though entertaining young ladies was not exactly encouraged. _

_I do what I must to survive. You're the one who encouraged me!_ Obi-Wan kicked Qui-Gon out of his mind and swept onto stage for the second shift. He was very conscious of the bounty hunter. She was sitting at a table right next to the stage, eyes intently fixed on him. He could sense she was preparing for action. Soon. He ended his turn, as always, by whipping out his lightsaber as the lights dimmed around him.

In its glow, he saw the bounty hunter get to her feet. He gave a start as she clamped one gauntleted hand on ...

… his arm and hauled him into a seat at her table. She slid the hand on his arm up to his shoulder, traced the curve of his neck up to his chin and tilted his head back to stare deeply into his surprised blue-grey eyes. Obi-Wan bit his lip and tried to look innocent, not like a wanted fugitive with something to hide.

Not that he could hide anything, working as a stripper. It tended to be a very revealing line of work. He tried to avoid looking down in confirmation.

"Hey handsome, let me buy you a drink," she purred. It was the purr of a Denebian Devilcat, full of menace and deep threats. This bounty hunter was determined to get her man, coiled and ready to make her move.

"Uh, no, thank you," Obi-Wan declined with the utmost politeness. If she were planning to blast him, he would need all his wits about him. Besides, until she actually did try to blast him, there was no reason not to be polite. More than anything, Obi-Wan hated rudeness.

It had been four months since the titanic duel that had ripped apart Master and former Padawan, leaving Obi-Wan striving to stay afloat in the heaving sea that was now the galaxy, as the Empire ripped apart the Republic like a behemoth tearing apart a ship. That ship of friendship had sunk, never to rise again.

Four months, and the Jedi Master was still huffy about Anakin's rudeness, not to mention his betrayal, there on Mustafar. He could have fought Obi-Wan, burst into flames, even proclaimed his hate for Obi-Wan, without having to be so rude about it.

Would it have hurt him to scream, "Sorry, but I hate you?"

But, noooooooo, Anakin just had to scream, "I hate you," like a child.

Obi-Wan would have liked to have reminded him how politeness always paid off, but had decided to let him learn his own lesson on how lack of manners erupted in one's face. Let his bursting into flames be the last lesson that he would teach Anakin.

Surfacing from those disturbing memories of the past to the disturbing context of the present, the Jedi reached into the Force. Thus distracted, he failed to respond as the bounty hunter made her next move.

"Gawww, ack," he mumbled as his lips were smushed by hot lips as she plastered herself against him, pinning him against the chair. His hands flailed helplessly in the air as he tried to grab some air. Even more disturbing than his inability to breathe; her gauntleted hand was reaching for his lightsaber. This was just wrong. No one should interfere with a man's tools.

Calling on the Force with all his energy, Obi-Wan sprang into the air. The bounty hunter was quick, though, and she snagged his ankle and slammed him back into the seat he had just vacated.

_Gaw, more rudeness_, he thought bitterly. To make it worse, she had pinned him to the chair and was planting another one on him. Without so much as a by your leave, or pretty please may I.

Obi-Wan managed to wrest his face away from hers and take a deep breath, but she captured his face again and planted more wet kisses on him.

Obi-Wan, Jedi Master, began to panic. He was not trained to combat this kind of threat. The Jedi Order had never contemplated such a threat to a Jedi and come up with countermeasures. Obi-Wan was on his own. The Jedi Master was resisting her frontal attack with everything he had.

_Hey, Jedi, getting' some action_? Qui-Gon's chuckles beat in his ears. _You haven't seen much action since Mustafar, certainly nothing like this. By the Force, she really wants your lightsaber_.

_I…I beg your pardon_! The beleaguered Jedi Master gasped desperately, again surfacing from a kiss.

_Use your lightsaber_, Qui-Gon suggested helpfully.

_Qui-Gon! I can't believe you're trying to tell me to, oh_! Obi-Wan gasped in horror, only to turn bright red with mortification. Qui-Gon meant his lightsaber, not his, ah, lightsaber. This job was corrupting him. Yoda would not be pleased if he knew.

The little Master would be quite severe with Obi-Wan. "Your lightsaber, for defense only. Not entertainment. Not to impress young females."

_Remind Qui-Gon, not me_, Obi-Wan thought bitterly, even as he fought bitterly to keep his lightsaber out of the bounty hunter's grasp. And his lips; they were bruising. She was plastering him with kisses.

Obi-Wan didn't really want to use his lightsaber in full sight of all the patrons, even sitting in the dim corner as he was. His skill with it would almost certainly give him away, as only a fully trained Jedi in touch with the Force could wield one with any skill. Unfortunately, right now he was more in touch with this female than the Force, much to his dismay. He needed a weapon, but not a Jedi's weapon.

Could he talk himself out of this situation? Was his skill with words as strong as his skill with his lightsaber? He had to try. If he could free his mouth enough to get words out. If her tongue - ah, she had let his mouth escape as she nibbled her way up to his earlobes. He had had no idea that a tongue could be so potent a weapon prior to this, not having used his in such a manner.

"Ah, ma'am, if you don't mind, please inform me why you are so intent on bruising my face?"

The bounty hunter pulled back and stared coolly into his puzzled and embarrassed eyes. She held his gaze for a long moment, then slid off his lap and gave a sudden snort of laughter. Without a word, she turned and walked jauntily out of the bar.

Obi-Wan Kenobi had very good ears, so he heard what she muttered into a commlink.

"He's not a Jedi, that's for sure. No reflexes, no attempt to even use his lightsaber in defense, was flustered and unable to defend himself. Must have stolen or found that lightsaber somewhere. No way he could be a Jedi. Waste of my time."

Obi-Wan smiled. A gust of wind had come in with the bounty hunters exit just as he was thinking, _good, I wasn't exposed_, but as the cool breeze brushed against him he looked down, only to blush again. His identity may not have been exposed, but, the same couldn't be said for, ah, him. He pulled his cloak tightly around him in concealment. Now, and only now, he had no fear of exposure.


End file.
